Bittersweet Surrender (14 page)

“I'm surprised you haven't been more interested in herbs.”

“It's not that I wasn't interested. It's just that nowadays the products are made for me and all I have to do is pick what I want. Takes the work out of preparing my own.”

“I can understand that.” Magnolia picked up the cookbook beside her. “Still, it will be fun to have an herb garden.”

“Yes, it will,” Carly admitted. “A couple of guests have commented that it's cool to see that out there. The little wooden plaques with the names of the herbs are a nice touch.”

“Wait till you see the garden after the plants really start growing. That's when it gets fun.”

Much as she hated to admit it, Magnolia's enthusiasm for the herb garden was growing on her, so to speak.

“It's kind of nice remembering those times with my mom. Haven't thought about that in so long. Sometimes it's good to remember why we do things. Guess I just wanted to keep the Sullivan girls' tradition going.”

“Except you added chocolate to your spa.”

“That's right. Chocolate was a way to make the spa stand out from others, since it was new and innovative. It seemed to fit.” Not that it had helped all that much. The younger women seemed to like the idea, but she couldn't seem to get anyone over the age of thirty-five to try it. Hopefully, the dark chocolate would help.

“Well, I have to admit you do a good business,” Magnolia said.

If only I had the money to prove it.

“And it's easy to see that you enjoy what you're doing. That's the most important thing. Life is too short to do otherwise. As you know. How are you getting along, by the way? Since the cancer, I mean?”

Carly blinked. No one had asked her that in quite a while. “I'm doing okay. Sometimes it seems as though it never happened.” Well, as long as she didn't look at herself.

Magnolia clucked her tongue. “Cancer is such a horrible disease.”

“That's true, but they have made great strides in treatment. It's not like it used to be. There truly is hope today.” Once she got her shape back, she'd be good as new.

“You're living proof,” Magnolia said with a smile.

Carly smiled. “When Ivy and I were in school together, I don't remember you working outside the home. Did you?”

“No, I didn't. Ivy's father, as you know, was a doctor and provided well for me. My love has always been cooking.” Her eyes glazed over. “My, how we used to entertain.”

That would explain why she was always in Carly's kitchen. But it didn't explain her level of expertise. Carly couldn't imagine Magnolia cooking for a party.

“'Course, our cook wouldn't let me help too much, but I liked to putter around in the kitchen when I was able.”

Okay, that explained a lot.

“That's a real gift. It works out well for us too—especially since I like to eat.” Not that Carly wanted to encourage Magnolia, but she couldn't be rude.

Magnolia laughed. “Ivy was quite the cook too.”

Carly wondered if Magnolia realized that the word “too” implied there was more than one cook in the family.

“I remember.”

Magnolia's quick smile turned to a frown. “Too bad Scott didn't appreciate it.”

Carly was taken aback by her comment. “Why do you say that? Scott raved about her cooking.”

“I'm afraid it was for appearance's sake. She told me he rarely ate at home. Came home late many nights.” Disappointment and a slight fringe of bitterness hung on her words.

“Tax season. She told me about that. But he is an accountant, after all. That's their busy time of year.”

“Excuses. That's all it was. There's a problem when a man stays away from home that much.” She lifted a bony finger. “You mark my words.”

“Magnolia, you know Ivy was my best friend. But I know Scott, and he would never have done anything to jeopardize their marriage.”

“Everyone has their own opinion.” Magnolia picked up her cookbook. Their friendly discussion had obviously come to a close.

After Carly read a chapter of her mystery book, she said good night. All that talk about Grandma Emma had put her in a nostalgic mood, so she headed to the attic. Pulling the rope to the trapdoor, she unfolded the wooden stairs and carefully climbed the steep, narrow steps. With a tug on the string, light spilled upon the musty, unused room. She heaved herself up. Wooden boards groaned beneath her feet as she explored days gone by.

A weather-worn rocking chair sat alone and abandoned in an isolated corner. The same chair her mother had sat in and rocked her as a baby.

Rummaging through an outdated trunk, Carly found fragments of family memories that would probably end up in an auction—or worse, a yard sale—someday. Lifetimes boiled down to a single box. A baby's dress, childhood drawings, stray photographs, a couple of postcards. Carly had a vague recollection of her mom going through the trunk years ago, but she didn't remember the stories behind the items.

Carly reached for a postcard. A picture of a sprawling, grand hotel adorned the front of the card. Turning it over, she saw it was addressed to Evangeline, Grandma Emma's sister, and it was from Grandma.

Dearest Evangeline, I have decided to send postcards so you can see pictures of where I am staying. The train ride proved tiresome, but I have finally arrived in Indiana. Though I am sad to have left my dear Chicago, I confess the West Baden Springs Hotel is everything Papa said it would be. The picture on this card cannot reveal its magnificence. I'll write more tomorrow. Affectionately, Emma

Looking at the picture on the front, Carly tried to imagine how it must have been to arrive at such a marvelous destination for a long stay. She lifted the other card.

Upon our arrival, we went to the Sprudel Spring Pavilion. The doctor looked me over and decided that I suffer from stomach ulcers. He said I must drink two to three glassfuls of Sprudel water from Spring Number Five in the forenoon and a like quantity in the afternoon, waiting fifteen minutes between each glassful. A brisk walk will follow. I shall rest for two hours after each meal! I fear I shall become a sluggard. These postcards prevent me from writing all that I want to say, but I do hope you will enjoy the pictures. Affectionately, Emma

She rummaged through the trunk to see if she could find any others, and spotted one more.

Dearest Evangeline, I had a fit of panic today when a handsome man who worked on the grounds greeted me. I was weary and spent from the day's exercises, but his greeting revived me considerably. Perhaps my stay here will not be so loathsome. I hope to meet with him again. Do not tell Mother as she would surely think me wicked. Affectionately, Emma

Carly chuckled at the glimpse of her grandma's willfulness peeking through. Maybe Carly was more like her grandma than she realized. Too bad there weren't more cards. She would love to have read about her grandparents' romance.

With a yawn, she turned out the light and crept back down the ladder. She was looking forward to taking Rita to Smitten tomorrow night. She wanted to check out the spa there and see what made it so successful. She'd hoped to go with just Rita, but C. J. wanted to come along. Carly prayed he'd behave himself.

“It 's nice of you to drive, C. J. You really
didn't need to do that,” Carly said as they pulled onto the tree-lined road leading up to the Timberlake Lodge in Smitten.

“Do you think I want to be stuck at the lodge while you and Rita do girlie stuff? A man likes to be mobile.”

“Like you'll be leaving the bar on a Friday night?” Rita said dryly.

C. J. grinned. “Good point.”

It still made Carly nervous when C. J. went to bars. He played poker, to his detriment, and sometimes traveled to a casino in New York. He had been gambling for a couple of years now, and though he argued the point, it seemed it was more than just a pastime these days. Carly had bailed him out on a couple of debts that Rita knew nothing about.

“I've been by this place a few times, but I have never been inside,” Carly said as they drove past the flower garden on their way to the parking area.

“Oh, this place is really nice,” Carly said as they stepped inside.

“Yeah, I'll bet they rake in some dough.” C. J. rubbed his jaw as though he was mentally calculating.

Once they checked in, they went to their rooms to put away their things.

A queen-sized bed covered with a plump comforter and soft pillows stood on one side of her room. Cozy furnishings, lamplight, rustic framed pictures, a flat-screen TV, and a wooded view completed the room. Who could ask for more?

Carly rejoined the others, silently taking in the wood paneling, thick leafy plants in oversized pots, and soft, stylish seating. Heels clacked across the hardwood floor as guests milled around.

Rita glanced around. “Don't you love the fireplace?”

Carly admired the hearth. “Oh, let's get a picture. I don't have my camera, but I have my cell phone. Stand over there,” Carly said, pointing to the right side of the fireplace. She snapped a picture of Rita and C. J., then they headed out for the restaurant.

They settled in to dinner at a nice restaurant in town and placed their orders with the server. C. J. leaned back in his chair and shook his head. “You women with your fancy linen tablecloths and sputtering candles.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” Rita asked, arranging her linen napkin carefully on her lap.

“I just don't see why we can't go to a burger joint and be done with it.”

Carly looked at Rita. “He is his father's son.”

C. J. grinned. “Nothing wrong with being thrifty.”

Carly wanted to ask him how thrifty it was to gamble, but she wisely kept that comment to herself. “
Cheap
is more the word that I had in mind.”

Rita frowned. “I don't remember that side of your dad.”

“He loosened up a bit as he got older. Not much, but a little. When we were kids, he didn't waste a single penny. We hardly ever went out to eat, but if we did, we had to drink water and share meals,” C. J. said.

“Yeah, I don't know how Mom put up with him,” Carly chimed in. “She wore the same dress day in and day out.”

“Didn't matter. She looked good no matter what she wore.”

C. J.'s comment stung. She knew she was feeling sorry for herself—again—that there was more to life than a perfect body. Unfortunately, most days she struggled to believe that.

“What was that she used to always say?” C. J.'s eyes scanned the ceiling.

His words brought Carly's mind back to the conversation. “Pretty is as pretty does,” she said.

He snapped his fingers. “That's it.” Turning to Rita he said, “Mom used to quote that all the time. Especially if she got upset about something, she would repeat it out loud to herself. I always thought it was kind of weird.”

Rita chuckled. “Just like a man.” She took a drink from her ice water. “Your mother was pretty, I remember that.”

“Gorgeous, life of the party.” C. J. looked at Carly. “Hard to live up to that, huh, sis?”

“About as hard as you putting up with a dad who paid his bills.” The look on his face made Carly cringe. “I'm sorry, C. J. I shouldn't have said that.”

He shrugged, normal expression back in place. “We all have our weaknesses.”

Rita and Carly exchanged a glance but said nothing. They were there to have fun, and her insecurities had put a damper on things.

The server brought their meals to the table, and they continued in light conversation, but Carly had lost her appetite. She was ashamed of herself for being so mean. C. J. was teasing. He didn't know how she felt about herself right now. It wasn't his fault she'd gone through cancer. What would possess her to talk like that?

Magnolia.

She was getting to Carly as sure as she was sitting there. Her drum playing, tearing up Carly's backyard and making an herb garden . . . Wait. This wasn't about Magnolia. This was about Carly. She couldn't blame anyone else for her problems. What would make her think of such a thing to say? When C. J. was in trouble, she was happy to help him. Prided herself in being the good Christian sister, bailing out her prodigal brother. Then she threw it in his face. What kind of sister did that? The book of Luke in the Bible said, “For out of the overflow of his heart his mouth speaks.” Well, that pretty much let her know what kind of sister she was.

“I saw a bar down the road. Think I'll see if I can start up a poker game. You ladies go enjoy yourselves. I'll find a ride back to the lodge,” C. J. said, placing his fork on his now empty plate. “Sure I can't pay for dinner, Carly? You don't have to do this.”

“I'm happy to pick up the tab, C. J. It's a lot more fun being here with you and Rita.” She hoped to make up for her earlier comment.

He bent over, gave Rita a quick peck on the mouth, winked at Carly, and left.